


Experiment 626

by anger_ieJ9



Series: Not the Stories you Remember [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Disney, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anger_ieJ9/pseuds/anger_ieJ9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of my Disney AU series: Lilo & Stitch. Starring Sam Wilson as Nani and Natasha Romanov as Mr. Bubbles.</p>
<p>Alexander Pierce is on trial for being terrible, and his greatest creation escapes. SHIELD needs to find and capture the Winter Soldier before he does any serious damage. He doesn't make it easy for them.</p>
<p>Steve needs someone to help pay rent. Sure, he's never lived with a vet before. Sure, the guy's weird about basically everything. But, Steve believes that, deep down, he means well. And he helps Steve get out of all those fights he keeps getting himself into, so really he doesn't understand why everyone is making such a big deal about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Pierce wasn't worried. He hadn't, necessarily, been in worse predicaments than this, but he didn't get to his position in life by taking the easy way. He would by no means consider this a “big deal.” He was confident he could weasel his way out of it, as soon as they gave him more information to work with.

 

“Alexander Pierce, you stand before the World Council charged with an impressive number of war crimes. Specifically,” she said pointedly, glowering at him over his glasses, “but not limited to torture and experimentation on prisoners of war. How do you plead?”

 

Pierce considered himself to be a marvelous actor. He shrugged as if this were an outrageous accusation and that he only barely understood the meanings of words like ‘torture’ or ‘prisoner.’ “I plead innocent,” he replied simply. He gave them some time to absorb this before continuing, “I’m not a young man. Do I look like I’m physically capable of holding someone against their will?”

 

“So you deny these claims? You didn't buy a human being from the Russians and brainwash him into a super-soldier weapon to do your personal bidding?” Councilman Rockwell asked. Pierce felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, felt his face get hot. He was getting worried. He tried to play it off with a charming laugh.

 

“That was incredibly specific. No, of course not. S.H.I.E.L.D would never participate in human trafficking.”

 

“Not S.H.I.E.L.D., Senator. You.” Pierce put his hand up, a placating gesture, but dropped them again when they made him feel too much like Nixon.

 

“I’m shocked you would believe rumors more than me. I mean, we all know the dangers of the lives we lead. We all have enemies, and we all understand that information is the greatest weapon of our age. If someone is spreading lies like this, we’re wasting an awful lot of time that should be spent hunting them down.” The Councilwoman had never liked him; she gave him a hard stare and repeated her colleague’s question.

 

“So you deny these claims?”

 

“Yes, I deny them!” He was worried, and he couldn't tell if his yelling would make him more convincing or less. He hoped they couldn't see him sweating. He turned quickly when he heard the door behind him sliding open. A squad of armed soldiers, not his own STRIKE team, streamed in, surrounding The Asset. The Asset had his hands cuffed behind him. His eyes roamed the room, taking in the holographics, the windows, and then Pierce. The Asset’s eyes dropped to the floor in a dead stare.

 

“Do you know this man?”

 

“I've never seen him before in my life.” The Councilwoman gave him another hard look.

 

“I wasn't talking to you, Senator,” she replied harshly before looking at the Asset with pity. If she knew what he’d done, she wouldn't pity him; she’d have him standing here being charged for war crimes, too. “Do you know who I am?” The Asset did not move to respond. “You stand before the World Council. Alexander Pierce reports to us. We are his superiors. I need an answer, son, do you know this man?” The Asset raised his eyes only. He assessed everyone individually before speaking.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“And who is he?” Councilman Singh prodded.

 

“My handler, sir.” Pierce was worried. He wasn't sure how he was going to scrape his way out of this one.

 

“And what does that mean?”

 

“He gives me missions, sir. He corrects me if I fail.”

 

“What kinds of missions?”

 

“Example: April 17, 1984. Yvonne–“

 

“This is ridiculous!” Pierce cut in. Anything to stop The Asset from talking. He was a Senator; he knew how to filibuster. “Anyone could have brought him in off the street. I don’t know this man.” He turned to address The Asset. “Son, I don’t know who you’re working for, but I’m not your handler. I don’t give you missions,” he turned back to the council to continue, “And I certainly don’t have my own agenda. I got myself where I am today through my own hard work. You think I could take a POW and warp him into, what? A dog to follow orders? You honestly think that little of me?”

 

Pierce put all his focus on making his body language viable, on making sure the council believed it. So, he saw the Councilwoman turn her head with an odd expression, but it took him another moment to follow her gaze. The Asset was standing straight, his head up and his shoulders back- parade rest. Pierce wanted to shoot himself in the foot.

 

“You are not my handler?” The only thing that Pierce was thinking was an upbeat concerto consisting only of _shit_ , _fuck_ , and _damn it all to hell_. There was no right answer. The best strategy he had was to save his own ass, and re-acquire The Asset afterwards.

 

“No, I am not.” The expression The Asset wore at that answer- Pierce had never been afraid of him before.

 

“Is this man your handler?” The Councilwoman was relentless. Pierce decided as soon as he had The Asset back she would be his first mission.

 

“Not anymore,” The Asset responded with the kind of attitude that would have got him a slap across the face if they were anywhere but this room. But, he was an intelligent creature, that’s why he was The Asset.

 

 The idiots had used police-grade handcuffs on him. The chain was broken with a simple gesture and three soldiers were on the ground. He kicked another in the chest and sent him crashing through the glass frames of the holographs. Watching The Asset was truly inspirational; he was a work of art. Pierce waited until they were all on the ground. Not all of them were dead; they’d have to fix that later. He clapped politely, like he was in the audience at an opera. He was tempted to say ‘Bravo’ but he wouldn't put it past The Asset to take that as an invitation, given his instability.

 

“Well done, Soldier. Let’s go downstairs and get those cuffs off before they start chaffing, huh? We’ll get you cleaned up, and then I've got somethings I need you to take care of.” Pierce held his hand out affably; you should always be gentle with a wild dog.

 

The Asset approached him, stopping just shy of his hand and meeting Pierce’s eye. Slowly, clearly he repeated, “You are not my handler. You do not give me missions,” before thrusting out with his metal arm and punching him in the throat.

 

Pierce woke up hours later handcuffed to a hospital bed. Nick Fury was glaring down on him like his one eye might be able to set Pierce on fire. Maria Hill stood behind him tapping away on a tablet. He would have tried to speak but even breathing hurt.

 

“I was about to ask if you had anything to say for yourself but,” Nick interrupted himself to chuckle. He always did have something insufferably clever to say, “Looks like your ‘asset’ made that pretty difficult for you.” His smile twisted into the grimace he was famous for before he continued, “but that doesn't mean we don’t need answers, and believe me, we’ll get ‘em. Right now what I’m worried about is your pet assassin that jumped out of the elevator from fifteen floors up and then stood up and ran away. I don’t know what kind of fucked up things you've been hiding all these years, but what I’m really worried about is that one of them has escaped. We don’t know who he is, or where he is, or what he’s capable of. You’re going to tell us. Everything. You know. Or I’ll let Agent Hill get creative.” The first clue that Maria hadn't been entirely ignoring their conversation was the twitch of a smile that came to her face when he said this.

 

It took them most of the night to convince him to put pen to paper, but after that it only took half an hour to write a sparse summary that most definitely skimped on key details, things like: The Asset’s original identity, holding locations, the maintenance crews, and certainly nothing that left implications about HYDRA. He listed plenty of information that would make it possible for them to hunt down The Asset, bring him back in. Pierce still needed him.

 

Maria skimmed over the Senator’s notes as she stood in the hallway outside his room. Director Fury was fiddling with his lighter; so, Maria closed the notebook and zipped it into the case with her tablet, falling in step beside the director as he made his way to the exit.

 

“This is going to be a problem. The recordings from the Senator’s hearing at the Council; The Asset said ‘1984.’ If he’s been around that long? If he’s been evading us that long? There’s something fishy going on. If the media finds out about this-“

 

“I know. Believe me, I know. We need to bring him yesterday. We need to debrief him, and he’s gonna need some serious therapy. Pick your best team. We’re going Lights Out on this.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

 ---

“Steve, you really gotta quit doing shit like this. I worry about you, man.” Sam slung his arm gently over Steve’s shoulders and led him out of the 24-hour clinic. “You've been lucky so far, but you are going to get seriously messed up if you don’t stop.” Steve shrugged, his small shoulders weightless with their belligerence.

 

“What was I supposed to do?  Just ignore it like everyone else? I can’t do that, Sam.” Sam sighed heavily and nodded. This wasn't a new conversation.

 

“No, I get that. I feel the same way, believe me. If I saw someone being trouble I’d step in, too. I just don’t understand how you’re covered in bandages for the third time just this month. I mean, what, do they wait for you to come down their way before the start or what? Doesn't make any sense.” Steve grunted at him, pulling the gauze from his nose to check the bleeding. Sam stopped him on the sidewalk and grabbed him by the shoulders. “I’m serious, Steve. We’re being real right now; you could die. The next time you decide to step in, or maybe the time after that, you could die.”

 

Steve looked down at a crack in the concrete and shrugged, muttering, “Better me than them.”

 

Sam grabbed his face and made him look up. “Better nobody,” he said firmly, giving Steve a stern look and waiting until he gave a weak nod before letting them continue walking. “Should get you a dog or something,” he mused, “Something big and mean looking. You can just show ‘em the dog’s teeth and they’ll all run away. Solve a lot of problems actually.” Steve laughed.

 

“I wish; landlord doesn't allow pets.”

 

“Oh, that’s right.” They walked together in silence for a few blocks before Sam spoke again. “Hey, you still got that extra room available?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not a real big place, but rent’s kicking my ass. Be a lot easier with a roommate.”

 

“I know a couple guys down at the VA are looking around; a few of them just came back. Do you mind if I-?”

 

“No! That’s a great idea, actually. Maybe I’ll come by after the next meeting and introduce myself? We can talk about it.” Sam gripped Steve’s shoulder in appreciation.

 

“That’ll be Wednesday. We start at 4 so maybe 5:30? That’ll give us plenty of time.” Steve agreed, and with perfect timing they stopped outside his building. They shared one last hug, planned to meet for lunch the next day and went their own directions. Neither noticed the man that had followed them from the clinic.


	2. 2

In the first few days, he ransacked his old safe houses. As many as he could. he stole a pickup truck to haul it all to New York City. he didn’t have a reason for choosing that city in particular; only, he knew he shouldn’t stay in D.C., and New York was just as good a place to get lost as any.

There were places here he knew. Check in. Drop off. Restock. Maintenance. There was an itch under his skin, telling him to go. There’d be food. Heat. Sleep. he kept his distance.

he swapped vehicles, parked in busy lots and slept a few hours at a time. Parked at clinics or grocery store lots to explore a few hours at a time. This was not sustainable. he needed to participate if he was going to blend in. he watched, chose strangers and followed their conversation, copied their body language, studying the context. It was not his strongest suit. It would require practice. 

At first, he thought the Small One was a weapon, too, but His handler was reprimanding Him. Might have been because He was such an ineffective weapon. Small. Slow. Thin. he was sure if he let the Small One land all his punches, the Small One would be worn down before he even bruised. Might have been the other one wasn’t His handler. Were they both? It made him think of Her. It made him feel. More important: housing availability. Opportunity for progression to sustainability and participation.

 V.A. 16:00 Wednesday. 

This would be his first test. his first test on himself; They had done plenty of tests on him. he spent the in between days preparing. New clothes. he cut his hair; undercuts were popular but purely cosmetic. It made him feel.  Weapons don’t have superlative actions. New phone. he had seen only a few people in his watching that didn’t own a cellular phone. he would stand out if he didn’t have one, too. he bought things for the sole purpose of speaking. It would be easier to steal what he needed, but he required practice. he didn’t trust any alias his brain supplied; that was Their work, Their names. Any personal information (i.e. lies) that came from himself were immediately discarded; all his answers came from his environment. The man before him in line for coffee was also a teacher? What a coincidence. What a small world. Can you believe this new law they passed? An outrage. People gave him their phone numbers. he put them in his phone, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with them.

 

____

 

Wednesday was not a particularly productive day for Steve. He went to the store for supplies and forgot to get green paint. He went to the museum to practice sketching but got mauled by all the tourists and couldn’t get a good angle. He tried to get some lunch, and his exe was behind him in line – on a date, and then the deli was out of poultry meats. 

“Why don’t you just get roast beef?” Sam asked when Steve called him for advice, “You like roast beef.”

“Yeah, that’s what I got for me, but what about Homeless Tony?”

“What _about_ Homeless Tony?

“Well, I don’t know. What if he’s Jewish? That’s not kosher, is it? What if I send him to his Hell on accident?”

“What. Why is this so important, Steve?”

“I think he might be Tony Stark.” Sam hung up. Once he got home, Steve tried to get his key in the door and dropped his bag; four pencils and one of his new brushes rolled out of the bag and under the bannister. He had to go back down three flights of stairs to get them.

So he gave up on getting anything done and made himself some tea. He thought about cleaning the place up some in case someone wanted to come by and see it after the meeting, but even as he considered it, he plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. Elvis documentary? Way better than vacuuming.

Steve got himself looking presentable and out the door by 5:00. He was proud of that; the documentary hadn’t even been over yet. He strolled into the VA just in time to catch the last few minutes of the meeting. He meandered back and forth down the hallway while he pretended to not listen in, looking at posters and skimming brochures that might come in handy.

“Alright, great job, everyone!  I’ll see you next week.” Sam finally said, and Steve sighed in relief. “And there’s a few of you I talked to the other day about housing options, if you’re still interested I’d like you to stay for a few minutes.” Steve stood awkwardly by the door during the grand exodus and waited for Sam to see him lurking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t ever been to the VA before, but he always felt like he was intruding. Sam grinned and waved at him before turning to the small collection that had stayed in their seats, “Hey guys, I need to get something from my office real quick, and then we’ll meet my buddy Steve. Gimme five minutes.”

Steve followed Sam to his office. Sam looked very proud of himself as he casually asked, “So, how’s Homeless Tony?”

“Not Jewish.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I got him a veggie sandwich; he was really disappointed, so I traded him.” Sam gave him the eyebrows that said he was pleasantly surprised that Steve knew how to be nice. Steve shrugged. “He probably needs the protein more than I do.”

Sam stepped into his office to grab a file, raising his voice to say, “Unless he’s Tony Stark, then you just got played, son.” Which Steve couldn’t disagree with; when Sam could see him again, he shrugged again.

“Worth it.” Sam flung an arm over Steve’s shoulders and chuckled. He started to speak, but he cut himself off when they turned back to the meeting room and there was only one person waiting. He was sitting down, slouching, but he was broad and thick in a way that said _this is someone who hasn’t stopped fighting yet_. Sam came to a halt, dragging Steve with him, and stared hard. Steve had never seen him treat one his vets this way before. He smack him in the chest, not that it would do any damage, and stepped forward to introduce himself.

“Hey! I’m Steve Rogers.” The vet stood, meandered forward, and offered his right hand for a shake. His left hand was stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie. “Sam talked to you about my apartment, right?”

“Yeah, I heard him mention it.” His voice was gravelly, like he didn’t speak much, but his tone was as casual and charming as his smile.

“Well, I’ll warn you it isn’t real big. You’d have your own room, but we’d have to share the bathroom, and you can spit across the living room.” He laughed, and it was marvelous, and Steve couldn’t stop smiling. “You can come by to look at, if you want. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sounds great. How ‘bout 11:00?” He suggested with a nonchalant shrug, “That way if it goes well, I can buy you lunch; we can discuss the details.” He didn’t wink, but it sounded like he should have.

Sam was jittery and twitching, voicing his discomfort without actually interrupting. Steve sent a questioning look over his shoulder at him before smiling some more. “Great! Do you have a phone? I can text you the address.” Sam huffed.

“Oh yeah. Good idea.” He shuffled through his pockets for his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to Steve. It was brand new.

“Oooh fancy,” Steve sang under his breath. He added Steve Rogers as a contact then sent himself a text message. There were no other text conversations. “So, what’s your name again?”

The vet visibly stiffened; his eyes darted the room, and his shoulders hunched. “Uh. It’s.” Steve looked up from his own phone, waiting to type the name in. “It’s. James?” Steve nodded and went back to typing in the contact so he didn’t notice the dark look going back and forth between James and Sam.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” James agreed, gave Sam a sarcastic, two-finger salute and sauntered away.

“Do not give that guy your address,” Sam demanded. Steve looked up at him in shock.

“What? Why not? He seemed cool.” Sam shook his head like he was having an argument with himself. He grabbed Steve by both shoulders and gave him a firm look.

“I’m being serious, man. This guy is not. Okay? He’s not one of the guys I had in mind; I’ve never even seen him before. He just showed up today. I’m not even sure he’s a veteran. He just walked in and sat down. He didn’t say a word the entire time, didn’t even react or anything. He just watched. Like he was studying us or something. It gave me some serious bad vibes, man. I don’t like this. I’m asking you please don’t talk to this guy ever again.”

Steve winced up at him, a guilty smile on his face as he held up his phone for his friend to see. The text message he had sent to himself to get James’s number was his name and address. Sam sighed and rubbed at his face. “But so what?” Steve asked, “I mean, what, you think he’s like a spy or something? I’m not an interesting person. It’s not like I’m super important and someone sent him to keep an eye on me, ok? I don’t have nice things for him to steal. Worst case scenario he doesn’t pay rent, and I call the cops to haul him out.”

“That is not the worst case scenario, Steve.” Steve rolled his eyes.

 

“What person anywhere would go through all this trouble for little ol’ me?” he asked, gesturing to himself. 

Sam gave him a stern expression, one eyebrow higher than the other with as much attitude as he could muster. “You constantly under-estimate yourself, and it kinda ticks me off.” Steve shrugged daintily, rolling his eyes again. 

“Come on; let’s go eat. I had a terrible day.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I made Tony Stark into Pudge the Fish, and I'm proud of that. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone that left such nice and helpful comments! I really appreciate it. I hope you guys like this next part just as much.


	3. 3

Steve worked himself well-passed nervous during the night. Sam’s worry had osmosed into him, and his warning was seriously keeping Steve awake. What if James _was_ dangerous? What if he wanted to _kill_ Steve? _Why_ would he want to kill Steve? That's just stupid. But. Still. He might? He could; it wouldn’t be hard.

He gave up on sleeping at six. He booted up his computer and started on breakfast while he checked emails and pretended to get work done. He definitely wasn’t planning “defend & escape” scenarios. All he had to do was keep the door unlocked while James was here, and he was pretty sure he could make a break for it if anything happened. He’d be fine. Probably. He had five more hours to dwell on this. Was that enough time to update his will?

The anticipation was jump-starting his asthma. Were his hands shaking? Steve sat himself down at his computer and dedicated all his thoughts to getting something accomplished. He had work to do, and he wasn’t going to waste time freaking out. It got his breath to level out, but he was still checking the clock too often. Every hour felt like a day.

But when he opened the door and let James in, he felt like such an idiot. He was charming and just a little bit bashful; he smiled. Surely dangerous people couldn’t smile like that. Steve smiled, too.

“Hey there. Right on time!” he said as he let James inside. “Did you have trouble finding it?”

“Nope, right where it’s meant to be.” Steve laughed.

“That’s great! Well, come in and take a look. Like I said, it isn’t much. The kitchen is that corner over there. Here is a couch; there is a window. My room,” he said, pointing with a careless gesture to each highlight, “bathroom, your room. I’ve been using it as a studio for a while, but I cleared it out. So, there’s not any furniture or anything. Can you get a bed and stuff?” James shook his head. “Well, that’s ok. We can borrow my friend’s truck and go shopping, ok? I can help.” James looked him up and down with a sarcastic notch to his eyebrow. “Obviously not with carrying anything, but otherwise, you know.” James’ laugh was still charming, and Steve let the last of his fears out the window. It was nice to have someone make a friendly joke about his body that wasn’t mean or pitying.

“So, can I see the room?”

 

____

 

he pressed the buzzer  by S.Rogers’ name at 11:00:47. he choose to be forty-seven seconds late. It made him feel. Pride again? Pleased, at least.

Steve had been honest about the living space but only from his own perspective. It was a defensible location. Few windows. Top floor. he would have an entire room to himself. he could close the door and be alone in an entire room. It would be his room, and no one else would be in it. It made him feel.

An idea glitched in his brain. An old, dingy apartment with a bathtub by the kitchen sink and a yellow valance on the window. his –daughter? Sister. – at the table doing sums while he braided her hair. Someone was humming. Shit.

He shook his head to recalibrate. The empty room had a window and no other features. It was perfect. “So,” he said, turning back to Steve with a smile. He had dedicated over an hour over the course of the last few days studying how the men at the coffee shop flirted. Women? Other men? Patrons? Baristas? There was always the same basic technique, and utilizing that information had been consistently effective. “This is going good, right? How ‘bout that lunch I mentioned yesterday?” he hadn’t said anything with the intent of humor, but Steve laughed anyway; He also lifted a hand and brushed the hair out of His face, which was a noted positive reaction.

“Yeah, sure,” He said, “sound good. Great. Yeah.”

Steve led him to a deli a few blocks down. The owner smiled at Him and waved with familiarity; Steve waved back. “This is my new roommate,” He said, pointing at him, “James.” he shouldn’t have given that name; he didn’t know where in his brain it had come from. he didn’t trust it. It was too late to do anything about it now. The owner asked what they wanted; when he floundered, Steve smiled again and ordered, “Two of the usual, thanks.”

They sat with a sandwich each, a monstrous pile of food. he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been allowed half as much. his metabolism hadn’t fully recovered from the mush They’d been giving his body for years. he took small bites and chewed slowly.

he watched as they ate in silence. he knew silence like he knew any lull, but Steve didn’t seem to. He wasn’t still. His eyes flicked to him and out the window and across the other tables. He tapped His foot and slurped His drink and delicately dabbed crumbs from His lip. It couldn’t be impatience. he wondered what feeling must be: nerves, embarrassment, fear? he didn’t think those words fit the situation. Steve wasn’t afraid of him. He should be; He didn’t know to be. he liked that.

“So,” He asked as He rubbed at His mouth with the back of His hand, “where are you staying now?” he’d ditched the last stolen van outside a 7-Eleven; now he has a storage unit, paid in cash. he sleeps in the back corner. This wasn’t normal behavior. he shrugged.

“I’ve been sleeping on my friend’s couch for a while. Not a great set up; I think I’ll be better off alone.” Steve looked down to His sandwich then smiled up at him. he recognized it as a flirting tactic. It made him feel; he wasn’t sure what.

“Not completely alone.”

\-------

Clint yawned. It had sounded like an exciting mission when they briefed him, but gosh was it a lot of sitting around. Like, more than usual. A hell of a lot of it.

“How long’s it take to get bed sores?” he wondered out loud. His companion jerked his eyes away from his binoculars.

“What.”

“Nothin’. So, hey. Jasper. Sitwell. Officer, even.”

“What.”

“I guess I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“I told you. My team is auditing all of Senator Pierce’s projects, which means we have insight on-“

“No, yeah. I get that. I mean. What are you doing here on this roof beside me while we watch him mack on Captain Twink? Not exactly high priority stuff, you know.”

“Everything to do with the Winter Soldier is top priority. If we lose sight of him for even a second, he could disappear. That’s what he was made for: being unseen.”

“Did you miss the fact that my codename is Hawkeye? I ain’t gonna lose him.”

Sitwell sighed at the clouds and blinked slowly. “This is a very sensitive situation. I don’t doubt your capabilities, but I have all the information we need to make sure this gets handled quietly.”

Clint huffed a little laugh. “Ok, boss. Well, does all your hard-earned information have a backup team in place? Because we are on a roof, and they are on the move.” Sitwell slammed the binoculars back to his face, bumping his glasses. Clint snorted down another laugh.

“Be quiet. Keep your head down.” Clint squatted down beside him. He really didn’t think the whispering was necessary. “He was trained to always be on guard. To always have the upper hand. They say he might even have the same breed of super-soldier serum administered to Captain Barnes back in the Forties.”

Clint watched the Soldier saunter down the sidewalk beside his new friend. They weren’t more than a block away. Easy shot. He drew an arrow, nocked, then drew as he stood. “How good is his hearing?” he asked saucily, just to get a reaction from Sitwell. He jumped, dropping his aim, when the Soldier glanced casually over his shoulder and looked directly at him. The Soldier smile and put his arm around his companion’s shoulders and never lost his stride. Clint dropped a knee and huffed, “Holy shit, dude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I posted the previous chapter I thought to myself, "This is great fun. I'm going to write and post a new something every week." And then I didn't post anything for... what? A month. Lame. Thanks for all the nice things you've all been saying! And for giving me ideas for more stories to write! I'm always receptive to more of both!

**Author's Note:**

> Lilo & Stitch is one of my favorite movies; this is going to be a lot of fun. I'll post more as a write it. Thanks for reading! (Let me know if you have any suggestions for other movies; I'm making a list)


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